


Cat's Cradle

by Eclaircissement



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Lashana Lynch kicks butts, Light Angst, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Mentor/Protégé, Plot Development, Post-SPECTRE, She is 007, Still bad at tagging, Strong Female Characters, allusions, cat idioms, my attempt at characterization, my shoddy attempt at action, pray for my soul, unedited, we die like cavemen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eclaircissement/pseuds/Eclaircissement
Summary: Cat's Cradle- Refers to something that is overly complex. Likened to the children’s game “cat’s cradle” which is played with string wound around the fingers to create complex patterns.





	1. Copy Cat

**Author's Note:**

> A copy cat; refers to a person who copies or imitates the actions of another.

If Q could describe his day. It won’t be destructive. It would be 007, because at this point of his career in espionage, the double-O moniker should have been a warning label on his contract as a quartermaster; a bloody adjective to describe or encompass the figurative hold on his predecessors and MI6 with equal dread and diversion as expected from 007. 

No not the old 007, although one can make an award winning argument against him too. No it’s the double-O looking at him with an amused tilt to her lips and knowing eyes. Dark serious eyes he first thought he would come to trust to at least bring back his equipment fully intact, but instead he wished too soon or not enough and the clear evidence was staring right back at him. 

All Q can feel at that moment was the sense of impending doom and a trip to medical for a migraine. 

“007, you realize dismantling your gun to weaponize your heels for a barbaric torture instrument is not exactly in your purview.” Here Q points towards the remains of the Walther PPK issued gun. And the lack of heels on the woman’s feet and determinedly not wanting to ask why she didn’t find it prudent to wear shoes, but soon going to ask it anyway because no one, except double-Os’ likes bloody attention as much they do.

Children as they are. He shouldn’t except anything better from this particular incarnation of 007.

“Why Q I didn’t think you care for women’s footwear?” This was just like 007 all over again. Albeit one penchant to use his equipment to modify for their own gain. Not a bad thing. It just proves how resourceful she is in any given situation with no explosions. 

Q sarcastically raised one eyebrow, “And I’m sure that losing said footwear was a result of losing said equipment to a cat fight is something to boast afterwards.” 

007 only winked him at him. “What can I say sir, one is always hoping for the latest in Q-branch. Even us girls have to fight it out.” 

“Yet, here you are scuffled, no signs of your heels. You surely had time to steal back your footwear —or should I guess as to what happened to them?“ Dryly Q pointed out the tender lacerations across her face, slash like marks of a cat, but rather human nails marked red streaks across her cheeks as she was attacked by a rabid infested and self-possessed Hera and a villainous cat. 

He read the report and honestly he couldn’t believe it, but it was marginally better than losing a Walter issued gun to a komodo dragon like her predecessor.

“You know what they say Q, you can’t win them all,” 007 said. She shrugged, even without heels she walked gracefully towards the door before looking over her shoulder and directly pinning him with her next words with a devil-may care grin. “I can’t stay and chat out our differences, darling. M to debrief, medical to see and a big pompous cat to entertain. I’m sure a pair shoes wasn’t that expensive, even modified, wasn’t quite as volatile as you expect.” 

Q spluttered at her, viper eyes glaring back at her audacity to walk away from him. The bloody quartermaster of MI6. “No it was explosive! You bloody well know it 007!” 

She only smirk, daringly quipping back and smoothly over her shoulders, “Call it, insuring my legacy Quartermaster.” 

“Sod your bloody legacy 007!” Q yelled after her. A migraine pulsing through his head. Because really, at the end of the day they are all the same. Bond and her. He took back everything he said about his first impression of 007. 

“Bloody hypocrites. Bloody hell 007s’. ” Q muttered as he turned backed to the damaged equipment, examining if it was salvageable. He narrow his eyes at the scratch marks on the frame. 

“Of course she did. She bloody tossed it to the cat!” Q rubbed his eyes aggressively at the image before him. Bloody legacies. Who in the right mind want to follow up on there predecessor? Well at least this time she attempted to get something back with nothing too mangled beyond recognition. 

“R get the bin, and give it to Brian, he can at least use it to reassemble another Walther PPK.” Q said already reaching for his now cold tea to sip at. He frowned at the liquid before him, before turning to check his emails while glancing up to see R putting another fresh mug of tea for him onto the edge of desk. 

“Already on it sir,” R replied giving the bin with the remains to Brian to work on. Q looked back at R’s brief smile flashing across her face.

“What are you smiling at R?” R looked back at him what they both know as truth. They both knew what they are all remembering but humoring him anyway. More like who. He almost sighed to himself. No good could ever come from nostalgia. He didn’t need another bloody reminder of him. Of things left unsaid. 

“Is that all R?” Q said while taking a minute long sip to pointedly look at her.

“Oh nothing sir. It’s like nothing changed at all.” With that Q watched R walk back to handle the younger technicians to various projects and other handlers who were handling the agents who were out on field. 

Well, Q disagreed and agreed with her because it seems nothing at all has changed, yet everything did.


	2. See Which Way the Cat Jumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where in which, our leading lady meets the man of the hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See which way the cat jumps; A way of saying that you should wait until you see how things develop or progress before committing yourself to a course of action.
> 
> • Okay, so a virtual cookie for anyone figuring out, 007 meets James Bond. A virtual freebie for that skyfall reference
> 
> • This chapter is pretty long, like 1,000 words plus long, but you know that is the price of making a feeble attempt at a plot filled story, so at the very least I can't reveal anything, so go on ahead if you dare.

There were many things, 007 doesn’t take for granted. The buzz of London nights whenever she is back. The open 24-hour local grocer store she shops at. The local pubs she goes to relax with a drink of her choosing. No, none of those things were taken for granted. 

She appreciated the humdrum and lull where she can unwind, while other denizens helps protect the queen and country from the shadows.

Not that she wasn’t always constantly keeping herself guard from any perceived threats, but she was a double-O and they were the cream of the crop so to speak. Although, at certain moments of the witching hour, or the prelude to midnight, makes her question the very notion, as if she’s walking into the twilight zone. 

She didn’t lie to Q, some hours ago, or walk out on him. She truly did had other more important things to do, like meeting the lion that’s prowling around in London. The very lion who kept MI6 from emerging with MI5 completely, and giving double-O program a second chance at life, not unlike the man himself. The very bloody pompous cat going by the name of James Bond to enemies and allies like. The rather retired agent of MI6 was a top priority. A similar dichotomy as keeping the prime minister informed about every issue that plagues’ her shores or her lands than campaign promises and political control. 

007 trusted her instincts. After the wake of Spectre, the overhaul of Nine Eyes, and her start of her promotion, threw her into hot the waters of her performance on her first mission. Bumping into James Bond two missions ago was not a serendipitous moment for immediate reasons, except for the dastardly. She knew for a fact, that Queen and country goes hand in hand with James Bond. 

However, into her first mission, with R’s assistance, she didn’t realize the man she bumped was her predecessor, only after he snuck his way into her hotel room finding him a with a glass of scotch on one hand and with a gun trained on two would-be hitmen tied up did she realized who he was. A sardonic eyebrow raised at her in greeting in return with a gun pointed at his head and a curled smirk trailing along the trigger of his next words, right after that meeting, cemented their roles together. The subsequent moments after that, lead her to successfully complete her first mission as a double-O, marked her status as 007 and gained Q’s respect, well for the first of missions anyway. 

In the aftermath of her very first mission, on a post-adrenaline high, she turned a blind eye to his actions, when he sneaked her a burner phone with a drafted message of written coordinates to locate a tacky USB drive to hand to Eve Moneypenny’s own hands and for M eyes to see. She didn’t question the bottle of vintage wine with a note from an admirer to contact soon’. No she took all of it in stride. She wasn’t naive nor was she unobservant. 

007 was simply waiting to see which way the wind blows or when the tides shift, so as the witching hour was upon her, and shadows deepen and stretch out in a minute shift towards midnight on her watch, she slipped into the stairway up to her apartment. Keys already in hand, door opened and shut, welcoming her into the shadow cavity of her abode. 

Her apartment was simple nothing too expensive, a foyer extended out towards the living room and open hallways on either side, while the kitchen has an open view to all its guests. Motion detection lights already turned on, she turned around to spot in with a gun in hand to living phantom menace gracing her couch, only tucking it back in her holster attached to her thigh. 

“Hello Miss Halliday,” the bloody pompous cat said. Halliday can only sigh, not admitting to be startled by the unnerving spectre taking space up on the couch away from the pale sheen 

“You’re late,” She said without any preamble. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, love, there was a slight change of plans I needed time to reacquaint myself with dear old London.” Amusement flickered across his eyes, but a serious edge in his tapped actions. 007 only catalogued what was being unsaid. Hostiles.Being Followed. Safe for now. 

“It’s Halliday to you, Bond.” 

“Well it’s simply James—”

“So help me Bond, do shut up and get to the point. I’m not your darling quartermaster. Some people don’t thrive on banter and wit at odd hours of the day.” 

“How is he Ms. Halliday?” James asked instead. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? I’m not your bloody messenger for you.” She retorted, not that she suspected that there were any mutual pining going on between the darling quartermaster of MI6 and the hound of MI6. No nothing to speculate or add further to the conspiracy between these two. Nothing at all. 

“He’s fine. He’s simply too busy to take notice that you’re back in London.” Read, he hasn’t hacked any CTV monitors or flagged any aliases that Bond possibly used with his implemented facial recognition programs to monitor London for foreign suspects or his heart’s desire. 

“Good, Q doesn’t need to know what’s going on.”

“Yes, one of the most valuable assets to British Intelligence is not needed for whatever grandiose scheme of world domination taking place in London’s backyard. I find that hard to believe Bond.” 

“It’s not that simple. There are too many ties and too many holes after Spectre.”

“Well, if you could simply simplify what you’re going to say it would be appreciated. I rather not miss my sleep before dawn awakens me.” 

“You’re a bloody vampire, you’re not going to miss—” 

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. 

“Opal Faye, an American socialite, comes from old money. She’s your next mission.” James replied in lieu, already handing her a file from his person. 

“Not a target?” Halliday coolly remarked. 

“M already has eyes on her, but she has diplomatic immunity due to her father’s position as the ambassador to the UK.” Bond replied. 

“She’s suspected to have relations with a MI6 employee for a short duration and with Max Denbigh or C as you will.”

007 watched the suited figure out of the corner of her eyes. His figure cut by the edge of pale light, while half of him seems austere in comparison. Cut, emasculate by something complex, yet defined by the strings he still attached to, always watching and perceiving unseen schisms and emerging organizations 

“So I take it Ms. Faye, is connected to Spectre somehow?” She asked rhetorically, plans half-baked already forming in her mind. As if reading her mind, a flicker of lips reacted in bemusement. 

“Yes and no. C was already busy with Nine eyes and emergent of MI5 and MI6. Nothing could’ve happened there, except with the MI6 employee. “ James looked at her speculatively, maelstroms churning behind fathomless eyes. 

“You’re here to hunt down MI6 employee gone rogue and you already know who it is. Don’t you?” She asked for verbal confirmation. 

“You should read that file,” James Bond replied already heading out to the door, eerily echoing her earlier actions from walking away from Q, only this time she was watching the myth himself, giving her a foreboding sense of whats to come. 

“It’s not Q, is it?” She couldn’t help blurt out, Bond already halfway transitioning from light of her foyer, to the hallway of her apartment. He paused took a look back at her with a considering moment. His one word reply cryptic and ambiguous as he himself goes out. 

“Not in the way you think.”

His words leaving an imprint at the bottom of a painting, a certain significant glance at the innocent file in her hand, an undecipherable name related to unseen patterns. There was no rest for the wicked on this night, the devil was here to stay, and a demonic hell-hound was out to play. 

At the very least, it look likes she has a long night ahead of her, yet, 007 can’t help but muse on whose strings was going to get cut or whose strings was going to get pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys looks like you guys made it to the end. I can't believe I'm writing this monster, it took a lot of mental pain and lots of labor into this beast of a chapter but that is what I get for adding plot development and characterization into it, yet so many unanswered questions remains, we will save it up for the future. Anyway, next up is James Bond. Yippee. All the angst comes from him by the way. Next update might be around Halloween. So comment down below, make conspiracies theories out of plotholes I potentially left behind, speculations are welcome, create a pin-up board with strings attached to suspects and events like we are in a film noir detective movie. Also if you got questions in general, I'll answer.
> 
> • So question, for you guys, what Sherlock reference did I use? First one who gets it, gets a virtual cookie. 
> 
> • Also, what movie reference did I make? It's a freebie. I'm not gonna say it, but you can guess it. It has to deal with James Bond.


	3. To Put a Cat Among Pigeons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bill Tanner flexes, and James Bond more or less is never out of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To put a cat among the pigeons; a way of saying that someone has created an upset or a disturbance.
> 
> Well, third chapter guys, who knew I made it this far. So virtual cookies for anyone who thought I referenced Sherlock the hounds of Baskerville (book). Another one to those who guessed a Bond 25 reference which I guess you can call it Die Another Way, now that the film is in post-production. -shrugs- 
> 
> Now on with the show!

Stealthy as an alley cat, James slinked away from the long shadow of the apartment building. Automatic street lights beginning to shut off one by one. Early birds preparing their day, already heading off, paying no mind as James slipped his earpiece, courtesy of Q-branch, into his ear.  
He tapped once to connect, motion detection on, to establish a link between him and the chief of staff. 

“Right on time, James.” The modulated tone of Bill Tanner, rang clear and sharp in his ear.

“Bill,” James replied back in greeting, “How's Q-branch?"

"Sufficiently distracted by 007’s antics, James," exasperation clung to his voice. 

"Good." James smirked, proud of the woman who hold his double-O moniker.

"You know we can't afford another you, Bond." 

"Did you get my coming home present?" He asked instead. 

"Yes, of course, Bond. Three dead ex-mercenaries from Qatar on english soil. How lovely. M won’t be pleased to hear about it."

"Next time I’ll gift wrap them and send it to MI5 doorsteps, Tanner ." He quipped back. 

"You do that Bond and you'll be on my hit list and I'll send Moneypenny after you to make sure you're dead.” James was never reminded so, then in this moment why Bill Tanner was still the chief of staff. The man was a force to be reckoned with when he teams up with Eve Moneypenny, he might as well be indestructible. 

“Tanner you wouldn’t do that.” 

“I would if only to have a peace of mind. In the present, Bond, your not to far from Oxford Street car depot, your mode of transportation lies in wait.” 

“Car?” James couldn’t help but question, already cutting corners. His movements precise and soundless as he blends into an early crowd of people heading to work in the direction he was going towards. 

“Be glad that 009 isn’t in the country. I liberated a new jaguar F-type, from its garage. It was meant to act as decoy for secret service personnel, but needs must.” James almost felt sad for 009, well almost. 

“Does Q know?” James could hear the ensuing silence from his end. Q won’t be happy to find any of his gadgets were gone missing. Last time a double-O try to filch an untested car, fit with the latest gadgets, he was outfitted with a water gun and a bloody paperclip, and a pink body suit for a young girl’s pretty pink princess party to stop an assassination, but only to end up caked in makup and glitter all over his body, even voluntarily going to medical because he kept sheding glitter. The same double-O only ended up being the favorite MI6 agent for diplomats to use for many more birthday parties and to stop rambunctious teenage escapades. When it came down to it, the same double-O agent outright begged on his knees to Mallory for a mission anywhere not in the near vicinity of London and preferably long term. Needless to say his quartermaster was a vengeful little shit. 

“Yes well, if Q knows, I’ll have accounting on his arse,” Tanner mildy remark, an unholy glee colored his tone, James choose wisely to ignore, as he moved close to the car park. 

“First level James. The Jaguar is nestled close to a blind spot you can use. Your new keys lies in the glove compartment, and your keys to a flat in Kensington. A rather lovely view of Hyde park.” 

“Thank you Bill, is that all?” James said as he moved to the underground parking space. The air even more cold and frigid in the dark space than outside.

“That’ll be all. M is expecting you tomorrow morning,” Tanner replied. Short and curt as James disconnected. He grinned at the lavious image that greeted sight, not as wonderful as his previous aston martin, but utterly beautiful and elegantly crafted by Q’s subtle touch in its design and infrastructure. 

He strode closer to the blind spot, as he moved. His eyes trained around him. Focused and attuned, but flickered at the sight of another figure from behind caught by another a large rear view mirror of a van and subtle echo of a footstep off from his own. 

Ah, so there was one more he didn’t get. James smirked. He subtly shifted towards the door of the jaguar. Better to be trapped in a corner of a blind spot then caught on camera. He bodily shifted, a hand close to the doorway of the automobile, but instead crouch down to closer to his shoe, letting his guard down in anticipation and not too bloody soon. 

The light footsteps he heard turned heavier, and swifty James pulled a knife, striking in near perfect time against the torso of his assailant. Knife stuck home. James swiftly grabbed the knife back. 

“What the fuck!” James didn’t think too much, as he kicked the spluttering youthful looking man, probably a car thief, low to his kneecap. The youth howled in pain, spluttering and cursing back. James took the advantage, swiftly knocked the young man hard with the butt of his knife to his neck, knocking him completely out. Probably do well not to kill a foolish juvenile than killing a suspected mercenary. 

Just as soon as he did that, another blur enter his peripheral vision. He turned and not expecting a blue-hair scrawny hair man jumping him with a largely size pocket knife slashing wildly at him. James only smirk at the amateur move, using his knife in a reverse grip against the other’s man poor slashing, allowing the smaller man open itself up to him. He forced the man to drop his knife, but he was mildly surprised at the strength of the other’s man tenacity. James used the grip of his knife cut his open end of his palm. 

Forcefully, James dropped the knife to the ground, maneuvering himself to feint and to create some distance, but the man was a literal pit viper, viciously striking back at him. Inwardly James cursed, as he tried to grip the scrawny figure, but limited by his own mobility. He couldn’t kill them, but fuck was it annoying if he explained to M why he killed an idiot civilian even with a license to kill it didn’t extend to british soil. 

He was only partially distracted by the stubborn and bulldogged punk, not only to hear him shout, but to be distracted, which James ceased. 

“Take the bloody—Reg—” He shut the youth up by slamming him against, the jaguar, hard enough for him crumble in a boneless heap, but not before he felt a familiar sensations of prods connecting at the back of his neck. Shock and pain ceased his whole being. Out of control he slipped his grasp from blue hair youth only falling from a bonnet of the car. James collapsed, nerves on fire. His muscles spasm out from his being. Agony he hadn’t felt before, striking him white hot, to the point he felt like his brain will ooze out his ears. 

Only signs of dark bliss fogged his vision. After shocks desisted and last thing he heard as he invited sweet bliss was the oddly panicking voice ringing his ear. 

“I’m so sorry Bond.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, James gets attacked. Don't know who, but that is a virtual macaroon for anyone who guesses it right. ;) More shoddy attempts of action is coming, so be prepared. Not much angst in this chapter, sorry guys. Maybe next chapter, we'll see how he reacts. Next update is probably on Halloween. Guys, here's to another chapter of Cat's Cradle. Comments and Kudos down below. Hopefully, I did Bill Tanner justice, and as always all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Caught another movie reference? Well comment down below to get a virtual macaroon. :D


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